


My Heart On A Trigger

by quicksilverdeancas (quicksilvermalec)



Series: Castiel Bingo [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ableist Language, Bingo, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Loves Sam Winchester, Fluff, Heaven, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I'm so happy?, Mostly Fluff, Other, Sam Winchester is a Little Shit, THIS IS SO CUTE, The Author Regrets Nothing, What Have I Done, also please no hate, and it's great, brief mention of Wincest from Cas, enjooooooooyyyyyyyyy, if you don't like Destiel then fucking leave, it's legit like cotton candy fluffy, like legit if I get hate comments I will turn on comment moderation, like v minor angst, sibling relationships, sil masterpiece, slight angst, slight implied ship bashing, the boys are both horrified at the suggestion of incest oops, this has been [Redacted] [Redacted]'s Social Justice Warrior Corner, yeah the title's from a song don't judge me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksilvermalec/pseuds/quicksilverdeancas
Summary: “So you’re back? Temporarily, at least?” Cas smiles a small but fond smile at him.“Yes, Dean. I am.”or5 times Cas came back from Heaven, and 1 time he stayed.





	My Heart On A Trigger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [incredulousanteater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incredulousanteater/gifts), [Clearfear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clearfear/gifts).

> This was written for the Castiel bingo. It covers the square "Heaven".
> 
> I'm feeling pretty good about this. Let me know what you think, including what sucked, cause I wanna know how to improve. This is one of only 2 5+1 fics I've ever written (I've also written a 3+1 fic but it's not posted anywhere cause it's terrible and also because I'm afraid of the backlash I'd get if I posted it), so Idk if it's good. Let me know.
> 
> Enjoy!

~i~

Dean could see his breath, fogging up the air in front of him, and fuck if he cared what day it is. His fingers were stiff, wrapped around a mug of coffee that was going to be stone-cold in about twenty seconds, and he couldn’t feel the tip of his nose. But that’s what happens when you piss off your little brother and he _locks you outside_.

In goddamn January.

He sighed and sat down on the tiny porch bench. This was _not _what he wanted to be doing at 7:30am on a Thursday in the dead of winter when he couldn’t even see the fucking sun, but… I guess that’s what we’re doing now.

He sipped his coffee, which was at least lukewarm, and glared at the foggy treeline on the horizon. He didn’t even know this part of the bunker existed, but he does now.

“Okay, fuck it,” he growled, letting go of the mug with one hand to bang on the door. “Sam! Sam you bitch, let me back in! This ain’t funny!”

But when the door creaked open, Sam was laughing. Dean punched him in the shoulder as he shoved his way past. “You deserved it, jerk,” Sam yelled after him. Dean flipped him off over his shoulder without looking back and beelined his way straight to his bedroom.

He heard a faint murmur from the other room – it sounded like Sammy’s voice – but he was too tired to care. It was a miracle he even got his mug onto the table before he fell into his bed in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt.

…

“Hey, Cas. Dean misses you. Today’s kinda special, so if you wanna drop in, that’d be great.” Sam doesn’t even close his eyes when he prays to Cas anymore, so the whisper of wings didn’t surprise him considering he could see the angel when he landed in front of him.

“Where is Dean?”

“Probably asleep. He considers any time before noon to be the ass-crack of dawn, basically. The only way I could get him up long enough to prank him was by bribing him with coffee, extra shots.”

Cas smiled. “Coffee sounds wonderful. I wouldn’t want to disturb the princess during his beauty rest, now would I?”

Sam grinned back. “Oh, of course not.”

…

And thank God – he supposed he should start saying ‘Chuck’ now, or maybe it didn't make a difference because they’re the same person – that he decided to wear the boxers. Because when he woke up at 11, there was his angel – _not your fucking angel, Winchester. He’s his own goddamn person and he don’t belong to anybody _– sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him. He was suddenly irrationally embarrassed, and he tried to cover himself with blankets because he was disheveled and covered in… what the hell _wa__s_ that stuff? Was that _drool_? and his hair was all messy and probably highly unattractive.

But Cas just smiled at him and says, “good morning, Dean. Did you sleep well?”

Dean mumbled something unintelligible and made his way toward the kitchen for breakfast because something smelled like eggs and bacon (_probably eggs and bacon_, supplied his half-awake brain unhelpfully) and Sammy made the _best _eggs and bacon, shuffling like a zombie.

“So Cas came back,” he murmured to his brother. Sam nodded, serving up a large portion of scrambled eggs and three slices of bacon onto a plate.

“Yeah, he said hi to me. He ate my bacon, too, before he went to creep on you.” Sam glanced at him, grinning. “That guy’s a savage.”

“Don’t talk ‘bout him like that,” Dean grumbled, grabbing his plate and practically pushing the younger out of the way to get to the silverware drawer for a fork. Sam smirked at him, then pointed at the side of his head.

“Your hair’s sticking up.”

“Bite me, bitch,” was the only response he got.

“Wouldn’t want Cas to think I’m tryna steal you from him,” Sam shot back teasingly, only grinning wider at Dean’s pathetic attempt at a jab. Dean choked on his eggs, but before he could make his usual half-shouted half-spluttered protests about how _I’m straight, Sammy _and _Cas isn’t my boyfriend _and _I don’t even like him _– rarely in that order – another voice interrupted, and they both whipped their heads around to look at Cas where he was sitting on the only free space on the kitchen counter.

“I wouldn’t particularly mind, Sam,” he rebuffed gently, smiling. “It would be quite entertaining to watch.”

Both brothers stared at him with a mixture of shock and horror as he casually fixed himself a heaping plate of eggs and the rest of the available bacon. He sat down at the table and then glanced up at them. “By the way, I have approximately twenty hours, forty-one minutes and thirteen seconds before…” he paused, looking thoughtful. “‘Shit hits the fan’ in heaven.” He did the damn air quotes. Dork.

“So you’re back? Temporarily, at least?” Dean couldn't help but ask, and Cas smiled a small but fond smile at him.

“Yes, Dean. I am.” Cas paused, and his eyes alight with mischief. “Happy birthday.”

~ ii ~

He materialized directly behind Dean ‘just to fuck with him’ – as Dean would say. Dean whirled around when he made his presence known and looked as though he was attempting to calm his heart rate. Castiel did everything in his power to suppress his smile.

“It’s over,” were the first two words out of his mouth.

“What?” Dean stared, uncomprehending, as though Castiel were speaking Enochian. (He did a mental check to determine that he was not, in fact, speaking Enochian, but he was not, so he discerned a need to clarify his words.)

“The war. It’s over. I have defeated Raphael, and you and your brother are safe. This means I will be able to assist you on your hunts more often.”

Dean was relieved, and also trying very hard not to show it, from what Castiel could see of the inside of his mind. (He was not _looking_, per se. Dean just projects very loudly. Sam does, too. It might be a Winchester thing.)

He could not, however, seem to stop the smile that split across his face. “That’s, uh…” He cleared his throat and replaced the friendly grin with a more neutral expression. Castiel would be intrigued that he felt the need if he weren’t too disappointed at the smile’s absence to process any other emotions.

(Dean’s smiles are very beautiful, and he has several types. There are the ones he wears when he teases his brother, and the ones he wears when someone compliments him unexpectedly. There are sluggish grateful smiles when someone hands him coffee any time before 10am. There are small smiles when Sam treats him affectionately – something that has gotten rarer and rarer over the years, which is quite a sad fact considering that they need each other more than ever – and bigger smiles when Cas does. But Castiel’s favorite of his smiles are the ones he wears when Cas surprises him. They make him look at least a decade younger and he looks so blindingly _happy _for the duration that, were Castiel human, he would likely forget to breathe.)

“That’s great, Cas,” Dean murmured, not making full eye contact with his friend, his eyes roving around the room instead. His voice jolted Castiel out of his thoughts, but it wan’t an unpleasant experience. Cas smiled openly at the hunter, hoping to encourage Dean to do the same.

“I am hoping to enjoy a brief period of peace, and I was hoping I could enjoy it with you and your brother, if I am welcome.”

Dean cleared his throat again. “’Course, Cas. You don’t even gotta ask, you’re always welcome here.”

Cas reached out for him, took a step forward, anything to just be closer to the object of his passion and desire, and Dean – surprisingly – didn’t fight it. He leaned into Cas and hugged him, and Cas hid his smile in Dean’s leather jacket. It smelled like sweat and motor oil and gunpowder and Old Spice, and it’s so very _Dean_ that Cas had to take a moment to recalibrate and then his strong arms were gone.

Castiel sighed internally and moved on to see Sam.

The room practically dissolved around him and then he’s somewhere else, with a different friend in front of him. “Hello, Sam,” he murmured, and he sounded tired even to his own ears.

“You alright, man?” Sam asked, unfazed by his sudden appearance in his room. He didn’t even look up from his laptop.

Castiel fought the immediate impulse to say “yes of course” – an impulse he had, no doubt, learned from Sam and Dean – and instead sidestepped the question altogether so as not to lie but not to worry his friend either. “The war is over, and I am now free to stay with you and your brother. I was hoping I could be here until whatever the next disaster is happens.”

He marveled at the changes to his own vernacular that came just from being around the Winchesters. It was miraculous the unconscious shift that had taken place.

(Well, perhaps not ‘miraculous’. That is almost blasphemous for an angel to say of anything other than a legitimate miracle. But it _is _intriguing.)

Sam grinned. “Good. I’m glad you’ll be here.” He gave Cas a once-over with his eyes, then sighed. “You sure you’re good?”

Cas took a deep breath. “Perhaps,” he replied finally. “I am simply not sure.”

~ iii ~

Dean did everything in his power not to let on, especially around Sam, but the longer Cas was gone for, the harder it was. Dean missed him a lot. Cas was disappearing more and more often lately, and for longer and longer periods each time.

So when he dropped into Dean’s living room after almost three weeks of absence, Dean barely moved. He just sighed, expecting Cas to leave in a couple of hours. Cas sat down on the couch next to him in the middle of his episode of ‘Game of Thrones’ season 6 and watched with him in silence. And when Dean queued up the next one, he stayed through that as well. In the break between the second and third, he got up and made them burgers. And then when Dean was finally done with his marathon – for now – Cas went up to his bedroom with him and made sure he got to bed safely.

And the following morning, when Dean woke up, Cas was still there, snoring away in a chair next to Dean’s bed. Dean sighed, watching him with regret. Angels weren’t supposed to sleep.

“Cas, you alright?” Dean whispered. Cas shifted, his eyes opening slowly.

“I am very tired,” Cas told him, looking confused. “I should not be tired. I have never felt tired before.”

Dean sat up in his bed. “Yeah, well. It’s part of being human, get used to it.” He shoved his blankets off and reached for a shirt, pulling it over his head. He could feel Cas’ eyes on him, like twin lasers, burning into his bare skin. He kind of liked it, and he felt sick for that.

When he turned around, Cas was pointedly not looking at him. Dean snapped to get his attention and pointed at the door, too tired to try and make his brain and vocal cords function at the same time. Cas nodded, and they headed to breakfast.

Sam had already fixed up some quick-and-easy breakfast burritos for them, so they just found their seats and dug in. The three of them ate in comfortable, amiable silence, and when they were done, took turns in the showers. That water pressure was _heavenly_.

They made their way to Boise, Idaho for a hunt that lasted them three days. Cas stayed with them the whole time. When they made it back, they binged more Game of Thrones, and Dean fell asleep with his head in Cas’ lap. (It wasn’t weird, it really wasn’t. It was totally normal for two platonic best friends to do that. Or at least, that was what Dean told himself.)

He woke up in his own bed, alone, tucked tightly into the blankets, and Cas wasn’t in the bunker.

He tried not to be disappointed. Five days was a long time for him to stay.

~ iv ~

Almost eight months, it had been since he last dropped by, and Cas claimed he was trying to help Heaven recover from the loss of all of its leadership, but still. Eight fricking months. Even Sam was voicing his complaints at this point.

Dean had stopped letting himself pray every day. He used to. He used to sit at the table twice a day – before breakfast and after dinner – and clasp his hands together and squeeze his eyes shut and sometimes he would pray at Cas specifically and sometimes he would just pray, but it was always the same message. _Please, let this be the one. Please, let tomorrow be the day he comes back home. _But he never did, so Dean stopped letting himself hope, because if there was one thing in all of Creation that had never done Sam and Dean any good, it was hope.

He’d decided to expect not to see him, to assume he wouldn’t be there, so that the day he finally was, he would be surprised. And oh, was he surprised.

Cas wasn’t there when he got up – he knew because he’d checked – and he didn’t drop in by breakfast, so Dean sort of assumed this would be another boring angel-less day. Until he walked into the kitchen to find something to throw together for a late lunch, right about 2:30, and literally ran into his best friend.

He didn’t even attempt to stop himself. He just hugged the angel until he started to feel awkward, and then he pulled away, slapped him on the back a couple of times, and stepped around him to rifle through the pantry.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted casually, like he’d seen him yesterday. “How’s it goin’ upstairs?”

“Poorly,” Cas admitted, turning to watch him. Dean spared him a glance; he was still uptight and physically awkward, standing in the middle of the room in his suit and trench coat. Heaven obviously wasn’t doing anything to help him remove the stick that was still firmly lodged in his ass, which meant that Dean would have to double his efforts. Like a good… platonic… best friend. Of course. “The angels are in a state of disarray. We have no leader, and therefore we feel as though we have no purpose. I do what I can to help them, but it’s rarely enough.”

Dean slammed a loaf of bread on the counter and opened the fridge, pulling out lettuce, tomatoes, ham, and mayonnaise. “That sucks, man. Anything we can do?”

Cas looked at him like he was insane. (To be fair, the shit he’d seen? If he wasn’t already, he probably would be soon) “Of course not. Although you are good men, you are still just men.”

Dean shrugged. “Ah, well. Worth a shot. So what’s up, then, Cas?”

“I grew tired of the long days of working and sub-optimal companionship, and wished to return to see my friends again.” After a moment, he added, “I was free.”

Dean grinned. It was kind of adorable how he was struggling to say ‘I missed you’ to someone who would’ve had an even worse time managing ‘I missed you too’. As he started to construct his sandwiches, he replied, “well, it’s pretty great to have you back, man. I mean, just me and Sammy, cooped up in this huge empty bunker? We’ll go stir-crazy pretty quickly.”

“You do get out for hunts,” the angel pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s work. Nowadays most the time I just wanna stay at home, watch TV. Hunting is getting difficult.” As he reached for a knife, he pulled at a not-quite-healed bullet wound from his most recent hunt. He flinched, as if to prove his point. “And painful.”

Cas took a couple of steps forward and tapped him on the shoulder. Dean turned to look at him and before he knew what was happening, there was a hand pressed to his forehead, his ribs knitted themselves back together, his muscles healed, and he felt better than he’d felt in a very long time. He smiled at his friend.

“Thanks, Cas,” he whispered, then turned back to his food to slice his sandwiches in half.

They sat down on the couch and Cas selected a movie – _The Matrix_, which Dean was 100% on board with him seeing. Dean ate his sandwiches and Cas appeared utterly intrigued by the movie, and it was good.

It was nice to finally have him back, at least for a little while.

That night, Dean and Cas made the excellent decision to do shots together. Because why the hell not, right? They’ve only got alcohol poisoning to fear. (And Cas was an angel – he couldn’t even get alcohol poisoning.)

Within an hour, Cas had completely drunk the hunter under the table, but it was actually fine, because Dean was smashed and his tongue was loose, which meant the Feelings™ were coming out. (Sorry, Sober Dean. You’re about to get called out.)

Around his seventh or eighth beer, and after so many vodka shots Dean couldn’t even have given you an estimate at gunpoint (wow, his liver was _fucked_, wasn’t it?), Dean announced, “I hate Heaven.”

“What?” Cas asked, and he was waaaaaaaaaaaaay too sober for Dean to have this conversation with him, so Dean unsteadily filled several more shot glasses, slopped vodka everywhere, and shoved them in Cas’ direction. He took them obediently, and as the alcohol started to finally impair his body, Dean felt satisfied.

“I hate that you’re… always in Heaven, and never here. It’s fuckin’ annoying. Cause like… I love ya, man, and when you’re not around I’m like, sad. And so you’re in Heaven all the time dealing with this trainwreck and that disaster and it’s like you never got time for me.”

Cas stared at him. “Dean, I always have time for you.”

“Then stay, once in a while, wouldja?” Dean could hear the slur in his voice, and he knew he was probably not going to remember this in the morning, but he felt like he needed to say it. “And not just for five days. Stay with me, for a month, six months, a year, a decade. Stay with me until I die, cause that’s how long I want you around.”

Cas looked as though he didn’t have anything to say. (He really didn’t. He was about as stunned as Dean would be in twelve hours upon discovering that he said all of these things in the first place. It was not going to help his hangover headache, that was for sure.)

Dean groaned, then, and leaned forward, putting his forehead on the table. “Holy _shit _am I drunk. I should go to bed.”

Cas nodded. “I’ll help you to your room.” He stumbled his way around the table and grabbed Dean’s elbow, steadying both of them and carefully guiding him toward his bedroom. Dean shuffled along beside him silently, more focused on remaining upright than on continuing their conversation. When they made it, he collapsed onto his precious memory foam mattress without even taking off his boots. Cas helpfully leaned over to help him with that, unlacing them and pulling them off, setting them gently on the floor next to the door.

“Dean,” he asked quietly from where he was bracing himself against the doorframe, “would you like me to stay?”

Dean’s voice was muffled and nearly unintelligible, but when Castiel’s fingers brushed against his back as he adjusted the covers over him, he could feel the affirmation in his body. He smiled a little to himself, and settled into a chair to watch over his hunter.

The next morning, when Dean woke up, there was his angel, still smiling at him. “I’m glad you’re awake,” he whispered. “Are you feeling alright? You were pretty hammered last night, do you want an aspirin?”

“‘Hammered’?” Dean replied incredulously. “You’re usin’ slang now?”

Cas gave him a fond and friendly smile. “Blame yourself, Dean,” he shot back. Dean felt himself grinning against his will.

But then Cas’ smile faded, and a different expression clouded his face – the one he wore when he was listening to Angel Radio. “I have to leave,” he said suddenly, and Dean grabbed his arm.

“Come back,” he growled vehemently. “Make sure you don’t keep your feathery angelic ass away too long.”

Cas nodded gravely. “I will,” he promised. “I swear it on my Father.”

Dean nodded and released his wrist, and then Cas was gone.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he fell back into his bed. “I really am gonna want an aspirin.”

~ v ~

It took Castiel five days to return. He ignored any and all pleas on Angel Radio for two weeks once he got back. This was for Dean, and anything was worth it for Dean. (And Sam. Of course. But… _Dean_.)

He found himself flying to _Dean _rather than to _the Bunker_, and if he were any less self-aware, he’d say he wasn’t sure why. But as it was… he knew. He knew precisely why he was seeking the hunter himself out.

Sam and Dean were in the library, researching their most recent case, when Cas arrived. He appeared between them, and neither of them even batted an eye. Sam glanced at him, his expression unchanged, then turned a page in the large dusty tome he was reading and murmured, “hey Cas.” Dean grinned up at him, but didn’t look too surprised – it may have been that he had faith in Cas. That thought made Castiel feel surprisingly touched.

“What do you need from me?” he asked. Dean smiled, then shot Sam a look that meant something along the lines of ‘check it out, we got Cas back on our team!’

“You know, if you could decipher this Enochian for us, that would be about it,” Sam told him. “You don’t have to break your back for us every hour of every day. We appreciate your help when you give it.”

“Thank you Sam,” Cas replied gratefully. “I love you.” The words just slipped out without him even meaning to say them, but he made no attempt to take them back or deny their credence.

Sam looked taken aback. “Th- thanks, Cas, I… uh, I love you too.” Despite the hesitance in his voice, Cas could sense that Sam was not unsure of those feelings, nor lying about them.

He sat down in the seat the boys had saved for him and slid the piece of paper containing the Enochian they needed translated over to him.

He didn’t miss the look of satisfaction that passed between the two of them as he started to dictate his translation.

That night, after a delicious dinner of Dean’s burgers, which never failed to please, Cas was learning the rules of Risk from his two best friends in the entire world. And then suddenly, as clear as the sun’s light, his decision was made for him. He could not be an angel anymore, a mindless servant of Heaven. Heaven was in shambles, it had no one to return it to its supposed former glory, nor in truth any glory to return to. For a thousand years or more, everything Heaven had done in their Father’s name had been a lie; He had no part to play in this Earth, not anymore, and as such, Castiel had no part to play in Heaven. He would not be a slave anymore.

“I must go,” he whispered, and his friends looked at him with betrayal in their eyes. He lifted his eyes to meet theirs and tried to explain. “I will not be gone long, but there is a small task I must complete. It is of the utmost importance, I’m sorry.”

Dean sighed. “Nah, we get it, go run your Heavenly errand and then scoot your ass back down here, ya hear me?”

Cas nodded. “Of course I hear you,” he replied, intentionally dense. “We are sitting very close to each other.”

Dean chuckled, hanging his head, and when he looked up again, Castiel was gone.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled, more out of habit than anything else.

“Castiel?” an angel – Loriel, he thought her name might be, and he felt unimaginably guilty for the fact that he didn’t remember it immediately – inquired when he appeared. She looked confused. “Do you have something to do?”

“I do,” he told her. “Something very important.” He pictured himself getting up on a soapbox to make his announcement, and it was somehow absolutely bizarrely ridiculous. He snorted at the image. Instead, he simply projected his thoughts into all his fellow angels’ consciousnesses.

_Brothers and sisters, as you well know my name is Castiel. I am not a perfect angel, and I have made many mistakes in my time. I have come to realize that I cannot be your leader, nor can I any longer, in good conscience, be your friend. You are each and every one dear to me, but I have failed you time and again, and as of this moment, I am no longer an angel of Heaven. I am on my own now, for better or worse, and I would appreciate it if you would not attempt to contact me. I am sorry._

There was an influx of protests almost immediately, but Cas blocked them out. They were no longer his concern, and for the first time in all his millennia of existence, he felt truly free.

~ +1 ~

Cas was back, less than five minutes after he’d disappeared. Dean had gotten up to fetch himself and his brother beers, and when he returned, there was an angel in his chair. He didn’t say anything at first – he just smiled at Cas, walked back into the kitchen, and grabbed a third bottle. He was too happy to even be annoyed.

“So Risk,” he began, once everyone was settled again. He leaned over the board and started arranging pieces, explaining how it all worked, but after about a minute of silence, he glanced up. Sam was staring at Cas, Cas was staring at him, and he’d been staring at the table. “What?” he asked, and suddenly Castiel’s face split into a smile.

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” he declared, unprompted. His voice was hushed and awed, as if he was only now realizing it. …Or as if he was only now admitting it to himself, like Dean was. Because Dean loved him back (obviously). “I love you more than all the oceans of the world, all the rays of sun in the sky. I love you more than Heaven.”

Dean shrugged, forcing himself to remain nonchalant. “I love you more than pie,” he offered. “I love you more than Baby.” After a moment, he added, “don’t love you more than Sam, though.”

Cas gave him a Look™ that meant he was being an idiot and it was adorable. “I know, Dean,” he replied. “I know because I can feel it when I touch you. I know because I can sense it, engraved in your soul. And I know that you will never love me as much as you love your brother. I don’t think that is even possible. I’ve long since made my peace with being second best in your heart.”

“No, I don’t mean that you’re second-best,” Dean contradicted him. “I just mean Sam is an irreplaceable part of my life. But you’re the only one who could ever mean what you mean to me.”

Dean didn’t think he was making sense, but Cas seemed to understand him perfectly anyway. He leaned across the board, across the table, across their beers, across Dean’s brother, and kissed him with a gentleness that surprised him just as much as it surprised Dean.

When he pulled away, just a few inches, Dean was breathing hard and he was sure his face was bright red, but Cas was here and he loved him. “I’m back, Dean,” Cas whispered, and Dean cocked his head ever so slightly to one side in confusion.

“I’m never returning to Heaven again. I am here to stay, for you and only you.”

Dean kissed him again, and didn’t back down until Sam cleared his throat loudly and pointedly.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a huge-ass thank you to incredulousanteater, who apparently actually _likes_ listening to my insane rants and weird random bullshit I send her at two in the morning. And also apparently doesn't mind seeing the first draft of this shit, even when it sucks? And like... is just generally a really awesome person???? What did I do to deserve her?????????
> 
> Title is from 'Angel with a Shotgun' by The Cab.
> 
> Love,  
-Fake Dean


End file.
